


Hustler

by LadyDracarys



Series: Hell Hath No Fury... [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDracarys/pseuds/LadyDracarys
Summary: Summoned by Leliana for her particular skills as an assassin, Abner appeared to the Inquisition shrouded in mystery. A quick-witted woman of determination, strength, and few words, she takes shit from no one, though she’ll dish it out in spades.--A collection of prompts filled about my Inquisition Agent OC, Abner, fromIn, Love Serenity. Mainly paired with my canon Hawke, but others make appearances as well. She has something weird going on with that Fen'Harel guy....





	1. “Are you jealous?”

As usual, she senses him before he speaks. She had hoped for a peaceful night of fishing at the end of a dock. Legs dangling, toes dipped in the cool water, watching the moonlight dance and cascade along the ripples.

“What are you doing with him?” he asks. His footsteps had been silent. But she knew he was there. She has long learned how to feel his presence in her dreams.

“Why?” she grunts, not bothering to turn around to look at him. Instead, she keeps her eyes on the small feather lure flickering along the water’s surface. She huffs a short, abrupt laugh, “You jealous?”

“I warned you to be weary of him,” he states cooly. She merely grunts in response, here shoulders popping one quick convulsion.

He stands silently behind her, watching her attempt to fish in the dreamy moonlight. He grows frustrated with her silence and useless enterprise. With a sigh, he sits next to her, noticeably irritated.

“Can I help you, Fadewalker?” She still has yet to look at him.

“I just think you should consider protecting yourself from him, Abner. The two of you flaunt yourselves–“

“How do you know?”

“I’m not going over that with you again.”

She grunts, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “It’s none of your business. I don’t care what cowards think of me, or who I –” Her words stop when he grabs her wrist. It is not a rough grab, his hand simply wraps around her flesh. A soft grip. Longer slender fingers lingering. 

She looks up at him for the first time. His savage appearance causes her to inhale deeply. She looks into smoldering eyes, unclear of how she should feel under his touch.

Unsure of what any of this means.

“Protect yourself now, as you have always done.”


	2. Harel’Lath

The curl to her lopsided smile intensifies as she stares at him, chin tipped down. Poised and ready to strike, she watches as the dread wolf skulks through the ruins, looking for her but not finding her.

With the sound of moth’s wings and the graceful speed of a halla, Abner springs from her hidden location. Dropping from her perch, she lands effortlessly behind the wolf. In one silent spin of her body, she frees her sheathed dagger and swings its blade toward the front of his neck.

And in an unflinching, lightning fast movement, Fen’Harel traps her wrist in his hand before she reaches her goal.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Harel’Lath.” Like the stone of his statues, he moves nothing, save the smirk creeping up one side of his face, and his bright silver-blue eyes peering down at her through their corners.

Abner groans and drops her arm as he releases his firm grasp. “How’d you hear me? I didn’t make a sound.”

“We’re in the Fade, ma ve–”

“So you cheated. Yer a dirty cheater.”

He laughs a rich and robust sound, and with a quick spin, he scoops her off the ground and into his arms. His voice dark. Dangerous. A heat emanating from the icy glow of his eyes. He leans in past her cheek. “But I thought you liked it dirty,” his voice rumbles into her ear, and he nips at the shell.

Her breath, hot, sighs longingly against his neck. But she desperately tries the fight the urges he calls out from her so easily.

Closing her eyes, a pit settled deep in her long-aching heart, she rests her forehead on his shoulder. She feels the softness of lips trail sensually down the slope of her neck, and she swallows her strength like a boulder struck in her throat. “Dread Wolf,” she says unsteadily, “I…I need to wake soon.”

Gently, he sets her down, his gaze drilling a fever into her body. “And so you shall. Until tomorrow, Harel’Lath,” he says. His long, tan, slender fingers rise between them and snap.

Abners eyes fly open and she springs upright in her bedroll. Chest heaving. Sweat dripping. “Fuck,” she whispers to herself breathlessly. What has she gotten herself into?


	3. A Reluctant Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar Hawke POV

_Maker, she is so beautiful._ He thinks to himself as he walks up to her. Hawke is mildly nervous that she will not appreciate his news. He meddled in her affairs yet again. She will be going to the Western Approach. But when he tells her, she doesn’t shut down as she has done before. Instead, she smiles that gorgeous smile of hers and teases him instead.

He doesn’t deserve her.

_He should tell her._

Instead, he kisses her.  _She is like water. She is like air. She is the wind. She is the earth. She is veracity._

_She is life._

Abner pulls away, her voice low and husky, “You want to do something fun?”

“Always,” he responds, his interest piqued. He watches as she jumps onto the crenelation of the ramparts, and it is then that he notices she is without boots. “Hey, where are your boots?” he asks.

“Left them with the apostate. C’mon!” she says just before she disappears over the edge of the wall, as if it was nothing. He continues to question her. Why was she with him? He has noticed the way Solas looks at her.

Even if she hasn’t.

He is fairly sure that she hasn’t.

Reluctantly and with more assistance than he’d care to admit, she guides him down the wall to the the rooftop of the stables. She is spritely. As soon as he lands, she disappears over the edge to the ground, or the bottom, or whatever. He is always two steps behind her.

_Always._

**But he likes that.**

_Even if he shouldn’t._

He follows her, cautiously, down to the hay covered inner stables. Why this is such a favorite place for her is beyond him. He looks at her, he knows the thoughts of his worry about Solas are writ plainly on his face, and he knows he has no right to have them, but he does. She laughs at him, however, and shoves him playfully into a hay pile. She is surprisingly strong, given her size.

It is then that she jumps onto him and kisses him again. Hawke could never tire of the feel of her lips on him. One his mouth, on his jaw, on his neck, she covers him in her affection. He adores it. She kisses him until Solas is not but a distant memory. 

That is, of course, when some bullshit ruckus halts her.

Abner rises, her hips rubs against him as she sits up in a way that makes him groan. She places a finger over his mouth to shush him. He watches, mildly irritated, while she listens to the bullshit happening on the other side of the stall. 

Really, Hawke has intervened enough into other people’s problems to last him a life time, but the goddess on top of him apparently has a higher threshold for other people’s problems… or perhaps she is just younger… or perhaps she is just not as jaded, or just a better person. That’s probably it. She is most definitely a better person.

Before he knows it, she is off of him, grabbing her daggers, and peering between the slats of the stable walls. Just as quickly, the better women… no… the  _best_ woman, is in the walkway on the stalls and throwing her dagger at one of the persons involved in the scuffle outside. Then, she is gone. Off to claim her prize, or something.

He remembers the satisfaction he once felt in stopping assholes from their assholery.

With a heavy sigh, he rises from the hay and follows Abner, brushing off what hay he can find as he saunters behind her. Looks like he has been signed up for more heroism tonight, when all he wanted was to experience her beauty. As he walks up, however, he sees her beauty in its truest form.

She was born for this.

To be the savior of others.

It is as if she glows as he walks up behind her, her blade drawn at a dick’s neck. While she refused the convention or the concept of ‘gates,’ he opens it and walks through. He sees a Templar on his knees, Abner’s dagger through his arm, another at his throat, and a mage cowering against the stone wall of the battlements. 

Hawke wishes that this was shocking, but it is not.

“What was happening here?” He  looks back and forth between the two people. “The Mage-Templar war is not supposed to commence within Skyhold.” Of course it is the same old story. A shitty Templar decided to take advantage of a mage. Rhaegar Hawke can’t help but roll his eyes.

He is so sick of this bullshit.

He just wanted some time to worship his goddess.


	4. Enamored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar Hawke POV

Hawke watches Abner trudge through the marsh, unphased by the filth and chaos surrounding them. She has a rugged, tempestuous beauty about her. What other secrets is she hiding, he wonders. He aligns himself at her side. Under his breath he asks, “How’s your head?”

Abner grunts, not making eye contact, she says, ‘I told you I’m fine.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, you are no good to us dead,” he mumbles.

She stops in her tracks, he halts as well and the turn to face each other. The misty rain in the mire’s atmosphere dampens her face. Blood from their never-ending battles runs and drips from the thick, wet air. Her eyes are dark pools of disdain. Her dark lashes collect tiny jewels of water. She is like a spritely, angry, water faery.

He can’t help but be enamored by her. The more she pushes him away, the harder he wants to grip her.

“Quit trying to be my hero, Hawke,” Abner sneers.

“We all need a little saving… now and then,” he smirks back at her.

Groaning loudly in frustration, she fists her hands and throws them wildly. Not to actually hit him, or anything else. Just to expel to pent-up animosity she feels for him. He laughs amusedly at the display. She notices and storms off, back in line to march with the rest of their team.

_She’s coming around._


	5. You’re jealous, aren’t you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar Hawke POV

He watched her all night. Beautiful. Stunning. Carefree. Sitting around the fire, laughing her beautiful full bodied laugh.  The kind of laugh that makes you smile no matter what its cause. He watched her, from the other side of the fire. Gazing at her effervescent beauty through the flames. 

He watched her.

Flirting.

With Iron Bull.

It felt like an eternity, watching her flirt with the crass behemoth. He feels his temperature rise with every giggle, every sensuous comment, every wink exchanged. He can’t stand it, watching her enjoy his company. Listening to the stories they exchange. Seeing how they grin at each other. He cannot take it. 

But, Maker bless, she finally rises. Mumbling something about relieving herself, she wanders from camp and into the woods. 

Seeing his opportunity, Hawke follows.

He catches up to her in the darkness and seclusion of the treeline, a faint light of the fire still barely illuminating her figure. He grabs her elbow. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice low and harsh.

She spins around indignantly. Her eyebrows furrowed, Abner glares up at him as if he is certifiable. “I’m taking a leak, what are  _you_  doing?” she snaps her elbow out of his grasp.

“Why have you been flirting with that  _beast_ all night?” his tone comes out  much more bitter than he intended.

She snorts and rolls her eyes, “Why? You jealous?”

“I don’t think I need to explain why I’m just a  _little_  weary of the Qun,” he is scolding her now, he doesn’t mean to scold her, but he can’t stop himself.

“Mmm,” she hums. Annoyed. She turns and walks away to finish her business.

“Bear,” he calls out, but she ignores. He turns his back to give her privacy. Leaning against a tree he waits. Eventually, she walks by, without the slightest bit of acknowledgment that he waited for her. He grabs her elbow again as she passes, swinging her around and pulling her close to him.

“Hawke!” she yelps while in motion. “What is your problem?”

“He’s ben-hassrath, why are you… why are you…  _flirting…_  with him?”

She smirks up at him, ripping her arm from his grasp. “You  _are_  jealous, aren’t you? Thinking you own claim on me, Champion?”

“Well, no… I mean… I thought maybe you—”

She pushes his back flush against the tree. Her hands spring up around his neck, yanking him down to her. Furiously, she kisses him. Her lips and tongue attacking his with a fervency that makes him grab her roughly, hoisting her up so that her legs can hook around his waist.

After a while, he comes up for air, staring into her silhouette face, just the slightest shine in her eyes. “I  _want_  to have claim on you,” he murmurs breathlessly. She says nothing, he cannot see her face. She just looks at him, breathing heavily from their kissing. 

She brings a hand to his head, streaming her fingers through his hair. Silent. He waits for her to say something, but she does not. Instead, she gently pulls his hair, pulling his face toward hers. She rests their foreheads together and nuzzles her nose against his. He hears her inhale deeply. As she exhales, she brings her lips to his. Softly, she kisses him. Fire mines explode within him from the sensations transmitted from her, through their kiss.

He thinks he has her answer.


	6. An attempt at Fluff/Angst/Smut all in one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted: "For DWC later tonight- Abner and Rhaegar. Any prompt that tickles your fancy." So, I was a little stumped… do I make it fluffy? Do I make is angsty? (I know you love the pain train) or do I make it smutty? What I did was try to make it all three.

Hawke frantically carries Abner to the healers. She was injured in a fight against some bastard Venatori assassin not far from Griffon Wing Keep. They were wandering alone, like idiots, when they were ambushed and Abner threw herself between his daggers and Hawke’s body, causing deep wounds in her chest and arms. Wounds that won’t stop pumping blood.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. You can’t get emotional in a fight!” Hawke grunts at her as he hurries his way to the keep, her blood quickly spreading and staining his armor. “And why can’t you wear some decent, fucking armor!” he chides. She lies there limply in his arms in nothing but her stupid, sexy tunic and leather leggings.

“That twat was going to attack you,” she says weakly, a soft smile spreading her lips. As soon as she was hit, Hawke laid waste to the asshole with a static cage of electrifying death.

“As they do in a fight, that doesn’t mean you throw yourself at them like a wild mabari… you’re not fucking  _geared_!”

“So sassy,” she says softly, her voice is getting weaker and weaker. She grins at him and he groans.

“Stop being smart, we’re almost to the keep,” Hawke says just before he begins screaming for the guards to open the gates. To his horror, he notices Abner’s smirk fall as well as her eyelids… she has lost enough blood to pass out.  “No, no, no, Bear. Wake up, sweety. Don’t you fucking do this to me.”

He rushes her through the gates, yelling for a healer at the top of his lungs. 

Solas comes immediately.

“What happened?!” the elf asks as Hawke lies her on the ground.

“We were taking a walk when and assassin appeared out of nowhere… she jumped in front of him.”

“You took her beyond the keep in  _this_?! And with no healing potions?!” Solas glares, looking as if he might attack Hawke himself.

“Fuck off, Solas, you know noone can tell  _her_ what to do,” Hawke growls. “Just save her! Do something!”

Solas looks her over. “These wounds are deep,” he says as he closes his eyes and a green light emits from his hands over her chest. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead and his eyes clench. “I think I can repair this. If it had been any longer without aid, though…”

“Just do it!” Hawke yells.

Vivienne run down the steps of the keep, a lyrium potion in hand. “Solas, here take this. These wounds look especially bad.” She looks at Hawke with a scowl, “Why was she out there without armor?”

“Does it even matter right now? She just needs help!” He screams, throwing his hands in the air.

Vivienne helps Solas by feeding him the potion while he works. The elf mutters a “Thank you,” while he continues healing the lacerations. It feels like an eternity goes by while Hawke panics beside her, but eventually the wounds are closed, the bleeding stopped.

“She may be out for a while longer while the healing settles in. She should be taken to a bed,” Solas says, sitting back on his knees and wiping the sweat from his brow.

Hawke delicately scoops her up into his arms. “Thank you,” he nods to the elf and heads quickly to his room.

When he gets there, he lies her down on his bed and kneels beside it on the rough, sandstone floor. He takes her hand in his, pressing her fingers to his lips. Although futile, he murmurs against her fingers, “Wake up, my love, wake up.”

He stays there, holding her hand and praying to the Maker that she wakes soon to give him some kind of snarky comment. As the afternoon turns to night, people filter in and out of his room to check on her, but it is all a blur to him. The only thing important is Abner.

His eyelids grow heavy, her hand still pressed to his lips, he leans his head on to the bed. Just as he is about to pass into the fade he hears, “Why are you on the floor?” He snaps his head up to see Abner smiling at him.

“Oh Maker… Abner, you’re awake.”

“Very astute. Why are you on the floor?”

“I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“Come here,” she says and pats the bed on her other side. Without hesitation Hawke  rises and lies down next to her. She smiles as he draws his hand down the side of her face and cuddles up next to her. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to the side of hers.

“I was so worried,” he sighs.

“Guess I should’ve worn some armor… like you said,” she says. He opens his eyes to see her turn her head, those dark, wild night skies of hers twinkling back at him.

“You never listen,” he smiles, brushing his thumb along her soft parted lips.

“Part of my charm.” She smirks and kisses his thumb before drawing it into her mouth. The sensation shoots sparks to his groin.

“Don’t get me started, Bear. You’re healing.”

A coy grin, a harder suck off his thumb.

“ _Abner…_ ”

She shifts to lie on her side and he moves his hand to her waist, gripping the curve there lightly…  _wanting_. She leans in, taking his lower lip between her teeth and then nuzzles her nose against his. “I’m fine,” she whispers before kissing him fully.

Her kisses are the type that bring him to his knees. So much passion and feeling behind them. He can’t help himself. Hawke leans her back on her back and hovers over her, settling between her legs as she bends them at the knee and wraps her arms around his neck, twining her fingers in his hair.

He kisses and ruts against her, so relieved that she is okay… alive… and in his bed. She moans and presses her hips against his.

He only barely hears the door of his room open, but certainly hears the startled squeak of the Inquisitor behind them.

As Izzalea backs out of the room, closing the door behind her, Hawke hears her yell, “Either Hawke is more a dick than we thought, or she’s awake! … _Don’t go in there_.”


	7. Green Bottles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Platonic appearance by Fenris

She watches as Fenris lifts the green wine bottle to his lips. A gesture he makes so absentmindedly, that she thinks he’s done it thousands of times before. He carries an emptiness in his eyes that matches the void he is attempting to give that bottle.

“How are you going to be any help at tracking, if you are hung over,” Abner says flatly. She is crouched, spinning a pair of roasting rabbits over a small fire they set in the mountain forest. Why had he even brought wine, she wonders. Who brings wine on a hunt?

“You’ll find that I am adept at many things while hung over. Hawke might say that I live my life hung over,” a sly smirk slowly appears on his face after he speaks Hawke’s name.

“Well, isn’t that pleasant. You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” her voice is still flat, but she punctuates her phrase with a wink.

“When you live your life as a slave for a monster, you can have an opinion on my free time,” he grunts, smirk vanished. A soft spot, did she even mean to press it? Regardless, he knows nothing.

“You know nothing about me, elf,” she sneers, but not with conviction. It is a half-hearted sneer, she has yet to decide if this man is even worth her energy. Nothing he has shown thus far gives her definitive indications either way.

“That much is evident. Feel free to enlighten me.” His voice lifts as he finishes, she glances from the rabbits out of the side of her eye, seeing that the smirk has reappeared.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, but I think I’ll pass. Thanks, though.” She swipes the bottle from his gauntleted hand and takes a swig, just as expertly, just as dead in the eyes.

Fenris grunts, taking the bottle back as she passes it. She peers at him, questioning…. Things. “For someone who hates mages, why do you care for Hawke so deeply?”

He huffs a short, one-syllable breath of a laugh. “For someone who likes her privacy, how can you even stand a prying, meddling man such as Hawke?”

She laughs, short, but full bodied. Thoughts of Hawke pressing her for information time and time again, flood her mind. She swipes the wine bottle back, remembering the time she passed a green bottle with Hawke the first time they met. 

“I guess he just has that effect on people,” she shrugs before gulping down a long healthy drink of the warm, comforting liquid. Fenris makes an affirming sound and she passes the bottle back, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. She turns her attention back to the fire and the dinner roasting above it.

They sit in silence, every so often sharing the green bottle. They wait for dinner to cook, so that they eat, and then silently find a spot to sleep. And tomorrow, they can return to their hunt.


	8. Hawke and Abner discussing having children.

It is a sunny, easy afternoon. The windows of Abner’s and Hawke’s small home are open allowing a flowery scented breeze to drift in. 

Abner is curled up in a chair in the corner with a book when she gets that sneaking feeling she’s being watched. As she lifts her eyes from the pages in front of her, she sees Hawke across the room staring at her with some kind of goofy grin on his face.

“What?” she asks and smirks at him, he’s such a dolt. 

“I’ve been thinking…”

“That’s never a good idea.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” he says and crosses the room. He kneels down beside her, taking one of her hands in both of his. “I think we should get married.”

“What?” the word is more of a gasp than a word and she shuts her book with a loud thud. “Why would we do that?” She scowls at the man.

“Because we love each other.” His goofy grin only gets more obnoxious causing Abner to groan and roll her eyes.

“So why would you want to ruin it?”

“Don’t you want stability?” He bats his eyes at her.

“Stability?” she chortles, wondering what has gotten into this man. “That’s never going to be a thing as long as you and I are involved.”

His silly face falls a little. “I want to make you my wife Abner, you could be a little more… I don’t know… excited?”

“Excited?” she scoffs. She flits her hands around and raises her voice an octave in mockery.  “You want me to cry and and squeal like a young girl. Want me to wear a pretty dress?” Her face falls flat and her voice drops back to a normal, annoyed tone. “I’ve never been that girl and I certainly wouldn’t start now, after everything…” Abner shakes her head.

“Well… now you’ve ruined it,” Hawke whines. The mage sighs and sits his body to lean against the wall as he sits on the floor, hanging his head in defeat.

Abner stretches a hand to mingle her fingers with his long hair, idly playing with his locks while trying to improve her disposition a little. She didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. “We don’t need marriage, Rhaegar.” She takes his chin in her hand and lifts it toward her. She smiles softly into his sad grey-blue eyes. “Everything is perfect the way it is. Why would we want to change?”

“A strong foundation,” he pouts and she pulls back her hand.

“What?”

“We should have a strong and stable foundation for our child.” Abner tips her head at this, narrowing her eyes in complete confoundment. 

“Our what?” she asks. “Did you get hit in the head when you went to town yesterday? We can’t have a child. Even if we could, we’re a little old to raise a baby.”

He swivels back to her, sitting cross legged and facing her in her chair. “I’ve been thinking…” He takes both of her hands in his, looking at them as he delicately smooths his thumbs over her skin. “Maybe we should adopt… an  _older_ child…” Abner feels her heart flutter unexpectedly, and she holds her breath, shocked, but not opposed to the idea. 

“Someone who has slipped through the cracks,” Hawke continues, looking up into her eyes with a hopefulness and purity. “Someone who feels abandoned by the world. I think we should find that someone, and give them a home with love and stability…”

“And a strong foundation…” she whispers.

His brighten brighten and he smiles broadly again. He squeezes her hands excitedly. “Yes! See, you get it.”

She smiles but shakes her head. “I think yer nuts.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

“I will think about the kid,” she sighs, still grinning. “But I still don’t think we could get married.” When his face falls again, she pulls one of her hands out of his to cup his jaw. She leans down and looks into his stormy eyes earnestly. “I love you Rhae, I don’t need some idiot in a weird get-up to tell the Gods that we are together. We  _are_ together.” She leans farther. Resting her head on his forehead and closing her eyes, she breathes in the comforting scent of the man she loves. The scent that lead her to him when he needed her most. “As long as I’m breathing… I am  _yours_ ,” she says, hushed and warm.

“I’ll just think of us as married, then.” he coos back to her, proud of himself, before reach his his lips to hers for a swift but beautiful kiss.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She smirks at him as he stands to his feet.

“But the kid…?”

“I… I never thought I would have a child… but… I kind of like that idea…” Her heart flutters a little more, maybe it’s a sign…

“I love you,” he says, bending down to kiss her once more before returning to his chair across the room.

She watches him walk, her heart feeling full and warm. “I love you.”


End file.
